Just Once More
by xoxmitchiexox
Summary: The Battle at Hogwarts has been won, but George feels like he has lost. His brother and closest friend is gone, and he has no idea how he will ever be able to move on. Until he comes across the Resurrection Stone.


**This was created with a very good friend of mine who loves Fred in mind, and I wanted her to want to rip her heart out by the end of it. The concept is not an original, and I apologize for that, but I wanted to do my own version of it (because the one I read was awful). I ****obviously do not own the characters, they are J.K. Rowling's, through and through. Enjoy.**

Mourning had still found a way to linger among the exuberance and excitement. Like an old, favorite uncle coming to a very important birthday, only to announce his fresh, fatal disease. The reminders of battle still hung heavily in the shattered battlements and bloodstains upon the floor. Most of the bodies had found their ways into the Great Hall, where families and tentative friends hovered in the lamentable scene, while others outside, those who had yet to find someone close to them to have perished, celebrated the victory of the Boy Who Lived (On Countless Occasions) and the down fall of the Dark Lord (Who Pissed Everyone Off).

It had all become too much for George. Sitting with his family, his body and mind numb (which the back of his mind told him faintly _could not be right) _George could not even bring himself to look at his twin. Not once. Not in the face, anyways. Even as he'd knelt as his brother's head, his eyes were forced shut, trying to squeeze back the tears that flooded through the gaps despite him. No, looking at him. . . that would make it real. . . _too_ real. . . .

Before he had even realized what he was doing, before he had even realized that the sounds of sobbing and idle murmurs was slowly driving him crazy, he was halfway to the large, oak doors that would lead him to a numb and deadened freedom. He could not bring himself to think, his mind gone, the only things he was sure of being the almost-numb, edgeless sort of ache pulling at his insides, growing with every step, reminding him vacantly of what he wanted to escape, and dull thudding in his chest that reminded him that he was still alive. . . if only painfully so. . . even if he craved, suddenly, not to be, because, for once, he had something that Fred did not. . .

_Life._

And like a slap to the face, George's senses awaked, and tears were cascading down his face. _Fred was gone._ His closest companion, who had never gone more than mere hours without, the one person whom with he shared nearly everything was gone. Gone forever.

No more jokes to share. No more would Fred poke fun at the way he had called himself _saintlike_ when Severus Snape had lobbed off his ear. No more would Fred joke that he was the more handsome one, the funnier one, and no more would George call him an arrogant berk while silently agreeing. He had always felt that Fred was more loved, for he had always been more outgoing and, in his mind, more funny, no matter what Fred had said in George's weaker hours, where he would confide in his brother, in blood and in soul, that he, next to him, felt less extraordinary. No more would he have the one person who he could feel he could be completely himself and never be judged, for they had been the closest of friends, there for one another from the very start. The sudden feeling of emptiness, that now, he was completely and utterly _alone_ choked him, and he was, once again, forced to take in his surroundings.

Not a person was around to see him sob, this time, as, in his reverie, he had made it all the way to Hagrid's hut. Not entirely sure where he was going, but knowing only that he sought seclusion where maybe, for just a while longer, he could pretend that Fred was still there, just off somewhere, maybe with Lee, his feet carried him into the Forbidden Forest without his objection. He knew already he could never force himself into denial. Even as he had run along a corridor during the battle, he felt what had happened. He felt, at the time, that he should reassure himself that he was simply paranoid, because who would not be, in a time like that? But in his heart, he knew that his brother had been ripped cruelly from the world, and ripped even more sinisterly from George.

In no time at all, George found himself at where the Death Eaters and Voldemort seemed to have been making camp, scorch marks upon the ground where fires had been made. A cold feeling swept through his heart, as if to remind him that it was still there, and that it was okay to feel like this. To feel anguished and so completely _lost._ He had never been without his twin. . . he had always been there for him, through the good and the bad, always having quick comebacks to spawn a grin on George's face when he had felt put-out. All the things Fred had done for George, and they had taken him away before George could repay him. . . tell him that he loved him more than anything, then joke, even more than he would ever love a girl. Then, Fred would have made him out to be taking things too seriously, as if he would die tomorrow. _Oh, Freddie. . . ._

George's heart wrenched, and he felt, for a moment, that he may vomit from the pain of it. He stared around the camp site and the tears started a new, burning all the way down his face and onto his torn sweater. His throat closed up, making breathing difficult, and his lips trembled and contorted ridiculously as his body gave away. He collapsed to the forest floor, convulsions racking his body as he sobbed at the memory of his laughing, smiling brother. Soon, his sobs neared screams as the pain destroyed his insides, making him feel worse than he ever could have imagined was possible.

His escape had turned into something worse than the numbness. It had turned into something worse than any torturing curse, even the Unforgivable. . . .

Fred would never laugh with him again. Never plot. Never join him in another adventure. Never poke and jab at him until he got the courage to go talk to a now-meaningless girl. Never finish his sentences. Never create another joke shop item that would practically fly off the shelves, because he was just so _brilliant_; so _inventive._ Never again would the two of them joke back and forth who was the better twin, while both thought it was each other. Never again would he feel complete. . . because his other half had left him. Left him so unknowingly, in a matter of milliseconds, with a smile on his face, crumpled beneath bits of wall that were probably, as he walked, being put back into place. Never again would he, George, feel alive, he could swear, right then and there.

And so came the guilt. Why had he not been with his brother? Why had they gone separate ways? _Why?_ Why could it not have been him, instead? Why could he not been the one so blissfully unaware of everything while Fred endured it, instead - no. He could never wish that on Fred. Even if a part of him wanted to _hate_ Fred for this, hate him for leaving, he thought of Fred where he was, and he just did not _know._ To endure the pain, or to let Fred be the one alive. . . ?

As if the question mattered, he had to remind himself, sitting up in defiance against himself, and suddenly, he was angry with himself. Why had he been so stupid? He should have kept his brother, the most important person in the world to him, closer by his side, protected him. But a sad, quiet part of him reminded him that Fred never would have agreed to being protected.

The tears began to fall again. His brother. His _brother._ The one, the _only one_ would have been the one holding him at that _very moment_ was lying, empty as a potion phial, in the Great Hall. . . would never stand, walk, breathe, or love again. He was gone. And George did not know if he would ever accept that. He did not know how he _could._ Suddenly, he understood the concept behind all religion. To know someone was always with you, as Fred had been, and to be reassured that you would see all those that you had come to greatly miss, once again, if only in some sort of heaven. And yet, he could not bring himself to decide what _he_ believed, for, as much as he longed to see Fred again, he could not imagine a god so cruel as to rip his twin from him in the first place, to cause him to have to find his own, separate way in the world. To suddenly feel so alone in the world made him feel scared. Small. Insignificant and weak. He was alone. So very _alone. . . ._

He was not sure how much more he could take, yet he was certain that, before long, his poor heart would be ripping itself from his chest, weak and bedraggled, begging for a new owner, for this one had ruined it with his abuse simply by _feeling too much._

Finally, he noticed something he had been blankly staring at for minutes without even noticing it. Glinting in the sunlight was a small, crudely cut, black stone. He reached out and picked it up, turning over a couple of times to inspect it, noticing how strange and _different_ it seemed than any stone he had ever seen, feeling that the symbol, a triangle surrounding a circle, then a jagged crack that seemed to obscure a straight line, was familiar, somehow. A long-lost memory tugged at the back of his mind. What would such a stone being doing out on the floor of the woods. . . ?

A noise off to his right made him look up, and he nearly screamed in fear and joy. His eyes wide, he slowly made his way to his feet, watching the figure approaching him with a grin.

His dead twin stood before him.

"F-Freddie?" George stuttered hoarsely, his throat still aching with tears. Fred's grin grew slightly bigger.

"Heya, Georgie."

"But. . . but, how?" George's mind had gone, he knew it. It had to have. And yet, he felt the need to rush out to him, embrace him, feel him, know that he was real. Yet, something frightened him about Fred, something that had never happened before. Disbelief was etched strongly in his features. "Fred. . . but you're. . . ."

Fred's grin faded considerably, and he gave a sad little nod, which only ripped more at George's heart. Seeing his own brother telling him he was dead. . . .

Fred glanced at the stone in George's hand and sighed solemnly.

"That explains it," was all he said. George blinked.

"What?" Fred shook his head and sat cross-legged on the ground, and George followed suit.

"The Resurrection Stone. I was wondering why I was back. I suppose. . . they are real. . ." Fred sighed again, and for a moment, George wondered what 'they' were, but his further query was lost as the sun shone dully through the trees and he was able to get a good look at his brother. There was a slight transparency to him, though he seemed more _real_ than any ghost ever had. More substantial, somehow. All hopes of reaching out and hugging his twin were dashed in a matter of seconds. Fred noticed his brother's face fall and frowned. "Georgie. . . I'm sorry."

George's tears rushed out again as he watched his brother's slightly painfully contorted face, and knew Fred was fighting back his own tears.

"It's. . . not your fault," George mumbled. Fred gave him a solemn, empathetic look.

"And it's not yours, either." Fred held up his hand as George made to interrupt him, and George fell silent, shutting his mouth. "Neither of us could have helped this. . . I'm just sorry. . ." he took a breath, like everything he was thinking was hurting him as it all tried to rush out. "I'm sorry that I'll never get to be with you to blow things up. Though you have my full permission to employ someone new to help you with that important job." Fred gave a small smile, a joke to lighten the blow of everything else he was about to say, which George knew was coming when Fred's smile faltered once again. "I'm sorry that I'll never get to see you get married. . . never get to taunt and tease my nieces and nephews. . . and that they'll never have cousins who look about as much like them as possible. I'm sorry that the one person who has always been there for you has left you, but I promise that he had no intentions of doing so and would like to give you his sincerest apology." This time, his reassuring smile was lost before it even started, and tears welled up in his eyes and broke loose, falling freely down his face while he ignore them.

"I'm sorry I won't get to grow old with you and teach the next generations how to be troublesome little gits. . . I'm sorry we won't get to hit each other with canes when we would have regrown those big, white beards together. . . I'm sorry I'll never babysit your future children and never pawn mine off on you when you least expect it. . . I'm sorry for everything. And I'm sorry you have to go through all this pain, and I know it won't get better for you anytime soon, Georgie, but I promise you that when you go, I'll be waiting for you, wherever we go to, and we'll make that place a non-living hell for all others there."

George and Fred now both had tears falling copiously down their faces, and all George wanted was to lunge at his brother, hug him, and tell him he was sorry, too, and that he loved him, but the words were extinguished by his paining throat.

"I'm. . . so. . . sorry. . . ." George managed to sob before his eyes slid shut with the grief. This did nothing to stem the tears, but he felt he could no longer keep his eyes open, but the sounds of Fred's own sobs reassured him that his brother was, if only for just then, still with him. Finally, silence blanketed him and he had to open his eyes to see if his brother had left. He had not. Fred's tears simply fell steadily and silently, now, as did George's. Fred gave him a weak smile.

"I can't stay forever, Georgie." George only nodded, looking at his lap. "The pain will get better. Honest. And if it gets too bad, just imagine me up here, giving James and Sirius and Lupin all hell. I swear, if they think they were the best, they'd just better wait until you join us." A serious look fell upon Fred's face, and George looked up, feeling his brother's mood change. "Just don't make that too soon." George gave him a slightly questioning look, but he knew what his brother meant. He could not let his grief get the best of him.

"Georgie. . . I want you to live to your fullest, okay? I want you to marry the most dazzling, most amazing girl you can find, and I want you to make lots of babies with her, and I want you to experience everything you've ever wanted to. I don't want you to let anything hold you back. Life is yours for the taking, my brother. _Take it._ Take it doubly for both you and me, because you know how much I'd love to be right there with you." George noticed his grip slipping on the rock, and noticed Fred's fading form as he realized Fred's final wish. George had to survive the loss of something so important to him, if only for Fred. Because Fred would hate both George and himself for it, until the end of eternity, if George gave up before he _lived_ again.

"No, Fred!" his words choked out with a sob, not wanting his brother to go. Not yet. Not _ever_. Fred gave him a sad smile.

"I have to go, Georgie. Don't worry. . . we'll see each other again, someday. . . I promise. . . ." Fred was nearly gone, and George felt nearly frantic, but he knew it had to happen.

"I love you, Freddie," George choked out, wishing he didn't have to.

"Now, don't get too sentimental on me," Fred joked one last time, and George's lips trembled into a weak smile, and Fred's momentarily hardened expression softened immensely. "I love you, too, Georgie. . . always will."

And Fred was gone.

George howled with pain, rolling back onto his side, stone forgotten on the grass. And so he laid there, for a while, crying until everything that hurt became numb, until he felt like all the emotion had gone for him for good. Then, he sat up and inspected the rock before him, and knew what he had to do. He pocketed it, got up, then began making his way towards the castle, thinking of Teddy. . . thinking of how, someday, Teddy would probably like to meet his parents. . . and his children, and how they would like to meet their war hero uncle. . . and while it may be, like how it had been with George, the worst, most awful, most heart-wrenching thing to ever happen. . . it would also be the most beautiful, most magnificent, most necessary thing in the world. Because he had needed it. To see his brother one last time. He did not know if it was his own instinct that had brought him upon the stone, or Fate guiding him to what he needed most in the world, but he knew that he was thankful that it had happened. That he had seen that smiling, identical face once more.

He smiled weakly at his brother's pathetic last joke. "Sentimental. . ." he muttered with a slight scoff, knowing that somewhere, Fred was snickering at him.

When he found his way back to his family, having pondered everything his brother had had to say to him, and he had noticed that the pressing weight that had kept him held so painfully down had considerably lightened, they watched him with wary eyes as he kneeled next to his dead brother and, despite the many protests he was sure that somewhere, Fred had, leaned down to press his lips to his brother's forehead, where he whispered quietly, so that only Fred could hear, "Sleep well, my brother."

"Where you been, George?" George heard Ron ask him, and George straightened with the slightest of smirks on his face when he realized Ron was giving him a look that told him he was worried beyond all other worry about him.

"I had an appointment to make, Ronnikins." Ron blinked, frowning slightly, bewildered, George could tell, of his brother's actions.

And that is when he realized that he was going to be okay. If not at that exact moment, then sometime in the future. . . someday . . . all would be well.

**Reviews are greatly appreciated. 3**


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